


Let Me Be Your Last

by zouisweak



Series: Zouis Week [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Infidelity, Kinda, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2015-09-16
Packaged: 2018-04-21 02:54:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,557
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4812281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zouisweak/pseuds/zouisweak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zouis week, day 4/7: First kiss: there's been more than one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Me Be Your Last

**Author's Note:**

> i feel like it's really obvious where i'm getting the titles from but anyway this is from last first kiss obvs

It’s a recurring argument they have, about when the first time was. Zayn doesn’t really care who wins, and he doesn’t think Louis does either. The back and forth is for no other reason than reminding each other- there was that time I loved you, and that time _you_ loved _me_ , and all the times we loved each other.

They’ve shared a lot of firsts, really, and that extends to kissing.

~

Louis always starts with the same one. “Remember,” he’ll say, “remember when you _licked_ my cheek?”

And he’ll sound so indignant, but Zayn will just roll his eyes. “Emphasis on _lick_ , Lewis. It wasn’t a kiss.” 

Of course, Zayn _does_ remember. It had been a joke, obviously, but also the result of his strange fascination with this weird mystery of a boy, all blue eyes and rash ideas and an unexpected amount of insecurity. The boy he couldn’t help latch onto. And he’d always known he wasn’t straight, but he didn’t realise that not being straight meant _this_ \- the sweaty palms and wide eyes and desperation to be the centre of Louis’ attention, if only for a moment.

And they’d been play fighting, and he’d finally gotten Louis to surrender, his skinny wrists beneath Zayn’s clammy hands, and it was like there was some expectation, the way Louis looked up at him, and they’d only known each other a few days, and he just didn’t want to let Louis down.

He didn’t know _what_ was expected of him- what do you do when you win a play fight? He felt like he should know, he was a 17 year old boy, it’s not like it was his first one. But it was his first one with _Louis_ , and it had disorganized his thoughts into something red and unsure and he’d just- leant down and licked him. Louis made fun of him for years after it, of course, but it still seems worth it, because at the time it had made Louis laugh delightedly, clap Zayn on the back, tell him he was a _riot_. Zayn, he realises, as he thinks back on how accomplished that had made him feel, has always been easy for Louis.

~

But it still doesn’t count as a kiss, and Louis will concede that point. So he’ll come back with- “fine, but what about the time after the semi-finals? When we’d just got off the stage?”

And Zayn remembers that, too, remembers every inch of their history that this argument will inevitably cover. It was similar to the not-kiss lick, in that it had been a moment of something close to panic, but less- negative, really, maybe more like exhilaration, adrenaline, and just some plain old ignorance of how the fuck he was supposed to handle himself.

They’d gotten through, and they hadn’t expected that, or at least Louis hadn’t, and there was a rush of happiness that came to the lads when they got through any week, but this was the Semi-Final, capital s, capital f, and so the general relief and excitement was coupled with pride, because _they_ had done that _, they_ had come that far, and suddenly Louis was clutching at Zayn’s shoulders, close, stage makeup making his skin look soft even with the sweat, and he was smiling so wide, making the veins in his neck pop, making his eyes scrunch, and he was smiling at _Zayn_ , and again, Zayn felt like- he couldn’t let Louis down.

Louis wanted to share his happiness with Zayn, for whatever reason, and Zayn needed him to know it was worth it, that he had made the right choice. So he had kissed him. Aimed for the cheek, got the corner of his mouth, and he’d always been ridiculously grateful for that miscalculation. It was an exaggerated and harsh smack of lips against skin, something they could play off as a joke, and they did, but when he pulled back Louis looked slightly thrown, still, eyes wide and wondrous as they searched Zayn’s face, smile looser than it had been before, more gaping.

~

But Zayn won’t let on how much he loves that memory, he’ll just shove at Louis’ shoulder. “Yeah, I remember it, I remember how it was two weeks after _you_ kissed _me_ , in the kitchen that time.”

It was a sympathy kiss, and Zayn’s always had a bit too much pride to enjoy sympathy _anything’_ s, but coming from Louis it seemed worth it.

He’d just lost an arm wrestle to Liam, which, yeah, no surprise there, even as a teenager he was weirdly strong. Liam was nice about it, of course, always a sweetheart, and it’s not like it was serious. He’d just beaten Harry, right before Zayn, so it’s not like Zayn was the only one, and anyway, Zayn had had to use his bad arm so he even had an excuse. But he was still a teen boy spending time with other teen boys, and he couldn’t help it if his pride was a little hurt, not that any of the other’s noticed.

With the exception, of course, of Louis, who had already become incredibly in tune with every nuance of Zayn’s emotions. He’d leaned in, pressed his lips against Zayn’s forehead, while wrapping his arm around his shoulders, Zayn instantly latching on with both hands, and they’d stayed like that for a while.

“You’ll always be my big strong man,” he had said, fake-flirty, and Zayn of course knew it was a joke, but thinking back on it, it’s strikingly reminiscent of all the things Louis would say later, with absolute sincerity, variations of _forever_ and _mine._  

~

“Okay, fine, but neither of them were proper kisses anyway,” Louis will gripe, “not like the one on New Year’s.”

And Zayn won’t reply to that, not for a while, because it always throws him for a loop a bit, the way Louis will be so casual about it, especially because neither of them had actually ever addressed it, not properly. Which made sense. They were both in relationships, ones that at that point were still strictly monogamous, so assigning more meaning to the kiss than they had to would just add to the guilt.

At the time, though, there’d been no guilt at all. All it was was pure affection, _adoration,_ for his best friend.

He’d come late to the party that Eleanor and Louis were throwing, as in almost already midnight, and Perrie hadn’t come at all and when he found Louis Eleanor hadn’t been there, and that seemed to get to Louis a bit. He played it off like a joke, but Zayn could tell that he was slightly unsure of what to do if he didn’t have Eleanor with him when the countdown finished.

“We’re the host and hostess, Z,” he complained, “we’re supposed to kiss.”

And it was all jokes, all theatrics, except for how Zayn knew that Louis always had some insecurities about the relationship, about everything the fame and the distance put El through. And Zayn had always resented the girl a bit for that, for not reassuring Louis more. Louis never felt any doubt when it came to _Zayn,_ not properly- Zayn wouldn’t let him.

But he hadn’t been thinking about Eleanor, and that’s the truth, when he latched onto Louis’ elbow as he attempted to go back into the main room from the balcony they were both at, alone. The countdown was at three, there was no point in Louis looking any longer, so

_Two,_

Zayn pulled him into his chest, revelling in how louis’ hands instantly fell flat against him, fingers slightly curved into the dip of his collarbones, and

_One,_

Zayn pushed his lips to Louis’, firm and for the first time there was nothing joking about it. It was reassuring, for the both of them, a promise they didn’t understand but desperately needed, close lipped and innocent but still a big deal, because it was yet another new way they discovered, together, to say I love you.

And when they pulled away, Zayn kept it light, smirking softly as he fixed Louis’ hair. “Happy now?” he asked.

Louis had looked so shocked, so honoured, in a way, like he didn’t understand how it could’ve happened, and while the fireworks coloured his eyes in a way Zayn instantly wanted to paint, Louis just nodded, clearing his throat.

“Happy,” he said, softly, but Zayn still heard it over all the cheers coming from inside.

~

Eventually, Zayn will find his voice. “Well, if we’re getting into the technicalities, you were definitely the one to initiate the first _snog_.” He’ll put heavy emphasis on the last word, because it always makes Louis squirm a bit, bringing that up.

There was nothing sweet about that experience, nothing complicated or meaningful. They were two guys in relationships that didn’t necessarily need to be faithful, and they were drunk and together and they loved each other so much, felt like they always had, and the club was sweaty and dense and dark and they’d been pressed up against each other for hours dancing and twisting. Zayn had never been allowed Louis’ body quite like this- pushed against his, open for exploration, letting his fingers trace over it with an attention he hadn’t ever risked, and it was fucking overwhelming and when Louis dragged him off into the smokers area with a look in his eyes Zayn had never seen before but instantly fell in love with, he was hardly going to say no.

He said a lot of other things, though, when louis pushed him up against the wall, things like _mine_ and _yes_ and _please_ and _fuck_ and _so so good, so gorgeous, so good._

But that was only when his mouth wasn’t occupied, when Louis was biting at his neck or jaw or collarbones. Most of the time, admittedly, he couldn’t speak, because Louis’ mouth was on his, open, tongue hot and demanding, feeling the press of his jaw and his lips.

It was vicious, it was _everything,_ filled Zayn to the brim because he’d been wanting it for so long, _so_ long, but he could never have imagined this, the press of Louis’ thigh between his, the way his breath would hitch, the way it’d make him rise to his tiptoes when Zayn pressed his fingers into his arse, the mingling of sweat and whines when the grinding became less discreet, more focused, quick sharp thrusts against each other with Louis’ delicate hand that Zayn loved so much between them, touching him in a way he’d never thought he’d get. It was almost something other than pleasure, something he wasn’t sure was positive, how it overwhelmed him, overtook him, in a way he didn’t think he’d even be able to handle if he was sober, how the tears at the corner of his eyes finally fell when he clenched them shut as he came, in his pants, like the teenager he’d first met Louis as.

But it was definitely positive, the rest of the night after that, how soft and pliant louis got when he himself came, the way he let Zayn lead him into the taxi back to his flat, the way he leant against Zayn as he fumbled with the keys at the door, the way he just laid there as Zayn stripped him of the too tight jeans before crawling under the blankets with him, the way he never said anything but never stopped smiling, either, never stopped touching Zayn.

~

And Louis will scoff and say “it doesn’t count if you’re not sober,” and Zayn will brush aside his hurt feelings at the idea that Louis doesn’t think it counts, because brushing things aside is something you get good at after five years of friendship with him, and say, “well the sober first time was you, too.” Louis will roll his eyes.

“Fuck off, Malik, you’re the one who leaned in,” and Zayn will pretend to pout because he knows it’s something Louis’ weak for and he’ll say, “no you leaned in,” and-

They had both leaned in.

Back of the bus, still driving. Going to a radio show before one of their own shows, and they knew they were gonna be asked annoying questions, because when were they not- but this time had Zayn nervous because it was after a slew of shitty articles he didn’t respond to, wasn’t allowed to because management didn’t want him to come across as “antagonistic” which was, as Louis put it, complete and utter bullshit because _they_ were the ones pushing the bad boy image, of course they wanted him to come across as antagonistic, they just didn’t want it to be on his own terms.

And they’d been alone, just Louis and Zayn, just like he liked it, and Louis had been trying to distract him, being stupid and goofy and overly affectionate. Zayn had been half in his lap, with Louis’ hands stroking low on his stomach in what was probably meant to be a comforting gesture, but really really wasn’t, especially as it was only a week after the clubbing experience. Zayn hadn’t been able to handle it, not then, not on top of everything else, so he had stilled Louis’ hand by grabbing it- not particularly chill, he will admit.

Louis had gasped, mock-offended, but when he spoke his voice was soft, just like it had been that night, the time when they _were_ drunk. Zayn was only half in his lap but suddenly he knew what he’d feel beneath him if he was _fully_ in his lap, and shit. He turned to look at Louis and for some reason it surprised him, how close they were, even though it made no sense that it would, seeing as his back was against Louis' chest.

Louis’ eyes were dark and flicking around Zayn’s face, and Zayn imagined he was much to same and if he was white he’d probably be blushing but luckily he wasn’t, but Louis was both, he was white and he was blushing and Zayn had never thought of blushes as pretty, until then, and his thoughts weren’t really making sense and-

Well. They both leaned in.

~

And one time, after they went through this charade of an argument, when Zayn was on the edge of sleep, Louis leaned in and kissed him, closed lipped but lingering, and said- “we’ll have to agree to disagree, then, but now I've kissed you last.”

~

(But really, it _was_ Zayn. He’s just never told Louis about how, on the first night at the bungalow, when Louis’d fallen asleep, Zayn not far behind, on the couch during a film they thought the excitement would keep them up long enough to finish, while the rest of the lads had more sensibly retreated to bed, he brushed aside Louis’ fringe and placed a kiss to his forehead, not understanding why, but still, even then, knowing that it was something big. Something important. Something to treat with care. He doesn’t want to share it with Louis, because he knows Louis would make it into a joke. He doesn’t mind. He’d probably laugh at it, truth be told, and he’s never begrudged Louis his humour. But that moment? It’s his. It always has been. He doesn’t think anyone could take it away).

**Author's Note:**

> I don't normally write fic but i have so many headcanons which is why i'm kind of stuffing them all into one thing here.


End file.
